Don't leave
by DeliaGrey
Summary: After Maeve's death, Spencer was distraught. Nearly 8 months later he is no better- maybe even worse off than in the beginning. His headaches are back, taunting him with images of Maeve. Morgan has had to stand by and watch the man he loves suffer endlessly. Will he be able to comfort him? [TW: needles, drugs, overdose, self harm, depression, mention of suicide.]


''I… I can't place it.''

''What? Do you feel like you've lost control?''

''I feel like I've lost everything.''

_''Thomas Merton…''_

_''He's the one thing you can never take from us.''_

Reid could hear the gunshot ring in his ear from the moment it happened to the very moment he now endured, 8 months and 11 days later, 5 months into therapy; his 18th session.

Reid heard the gunpowder crack in his ear and his own futile plea for Maeve's safety fall like leaves from a tree struck by autumn. He could never have her back. He could never see the one person who, for just a while, made his world turn. The one person who made the sun shine a little brighter, and made his favorite books read even better.

He trekked down the hallway of the therapy center with a heaviness in his chest that had been plaguing him since her death.

Therapy didn't help. He attended solely to soothe the anxiety of his team and halt the incessant inquiries regarding his emotional health from Hotch and Strauss.

Therapy can't bring her back. Therapy can not bring back the harsh allegro melody in his chest when he heard her voice through the gritty reception of a midtown pay phone. Therapy can not bring her back. Therapy can not bring back the angelic face that he only got to see a mere one time, before it was ripped away from him just like every other good thing he'd ever encountered.

Upon reaching the doorway of his apartment, he could hardly even remember how he got there. Didn't matter.

He stepped inside, not bothering to lock the door. Things like that became trivial and of less and less concern for him, lately.

Reid stood there, blankly staring at his collection of books along each wall. He crossed past them, his finger trailing against each and every spine not bothering to slow his pace for any significant author.

His body itched, ached.

He hadn't been fighting any urges in the past months. His recycling bin was littered with empty scotch bottles and several broken glasses.

His head reeled. He knew he was about to have another headache.

It struck him like an 18-wheeler to his fragile body. He crumbled against the book shelves, pulling down several books with him. He shut his eyes tight, pushing his head against his knees, which he held close to his chest.

_''Love you.. Bye.''_

Stop, stop- make it stop.

_''Love.. Is our true destiny…''_

Gunshots. Her body hits the floor. He hears it again and again. He hears the clink, slide, and drop of his change as he dials her number in the pay phone.

_''You would kill yourself for her?!"_

Stop, _stop!_ It won't stop…

Reid struggled to stand, the smell of smoke intruding in his nostrils from the lit lamp he knocked over. It cracked, shattered, then defeatedly sparked out on the floor.

He grabbed the book shelves as he walked to the bathroom, tugging more and more books as he crossed by. He finally reaches the bathroom.

_''The one thing.. You can never take away from us.''_

It doesn't matter, it doesn't. She's gone, she is never coming back. That bitch took it away from you, but I'm stuck with it.

''Thomas.. Merton. Thomas…''

Reid fumbled with the drawer below his bathroom sink, trying desperately to open his eyes long enough to get what he needed.

He pressed the needle of the syringe into the sinful liquid, shakily pulling it into the plastic chamber. He dropped the small glass bottle, shattering it on the white tile.

Reid looked down at the glass, watching the reflective shards spiral and tilt in his eyes. He pressed the needle into his skin, pushing every last drop of a colossal dose of Dilaudid into his blood stream.

He felt her image fade from his eyes. He didn't feel the glass in his feet, but he just barely saw the bloody smudged prints on his floor. He folded to the ground, tugging down the glass that held his tooth brushes. His hands caught him just barely, his soft ivory skin shredding to bits as it pressed against more broken glass.

The world blurred, and for a moment she returned.

Her head was not in pieces, her beautiful brains were back in her beautiful head. Reid smiled up at her, extending his hand shakily for her to grab. She smiled in response before fading back against the white wooden bathroom door.

It always happens. He gets so close but it always slips away at the last second.

He could feel himself losing consciousness and he smiled faintly at the blissful silence in his head now. He glanced over at the shards of glass, one being close enough to his hand for him to grab. Reid weakly pressed it against his arm, curious in his hazy state, as to what it would feel like- what it would do.

He saw copious red and white before he lost consciousness.

Morgan neared the door, anxiously tapping his fingers against his thigh.

''Reid?'' he called as he knocked on the oak with his knuckles.

No answer.

''…Reid?'' He called louder, his knuckles hitting harder against the door now.

Nothing.

''Spencer, the guy below you gave me a call. He said he heard thumping and banging around… Just let me know you're okay. Give me a knock on the wall or the floor- anything, let me know you're conscious.''

Silence, again.

Morgan swallowed hard, turning the knob and rushing in. The entire apartment was totally dark; curtains drawn, lights off. He smelled the lingering scent of the lamps demise.

He then noticed the small stream of light from under the bathroom door. He stepped over the fallen books and pushed the door open to the fluorescent bathroom.

Reid sat strewn across the floor, his blood pooling in several spots on his white tile, the syringe floating in the clogged sink.

''Reid!''

Pulse- he's got a pulse.

Morgan was frantic in his movements, wrapping his wrist with a washcloth, tying it tight with the belt of Spencer's hanging bathrobe. He warily patted his cheeks, calling his name gently, desperately. He was unresponsive. Morgan grabbed his phone quickly, dialing for the ambulance.

He held Reid's faintly pumping chest in his arms, his own body beginning to tremble as he awaited the medics.

_Please, please, please._

_Please don't let him leave._

_Please don't take him away._

* * *

**Hope you all enjoyed it! Like I said, I'm still testing the waters with this sad stuff. But I was such a huge fucking sucker for the Maeve shit- dude I cried like a fucking baby. Idk if I'm gonna continue this though. If I get enough requests and reviews for it I might, but as for right now I'm not feeling super confident with me know though, follow, review, enjoy, my babies! 3**


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